


Everything I Ever Wanted (Loved I Not Honor More)

by jo2ukes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (eventually it will get to post route spoilers), Angst, Canon Compliant, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, M/M, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Reluctant Lovers, love across the battlefield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21541801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jo2ukes/pseuds/jo2ukes
Summary: He notes the ease with which compassion pours from this… stranger. He knows he will mention this to Lady Edelgard - compassion is an easily exploitable weakness - and yet, he is grateful for it. He is unused to kindness, but he finds that, coming from the right person, with the right intentions, it is quite nice.
Relationships: Dedue Molinaro/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	Everything I Ever Wanted (Loved I Not Honor More)

To say he resents Edelgard’s decision isn’t quite correct. As his station demands, as the guiding principles of his  _ soul  _ demand, he’ll gladly do anything for her. He simply hasn’t imagined one of her requests would be for him to leave her side in such a way. It isn’t a permanent change of course, he’s merely assisting the Professor with her duties for the month. And, given Edelgard’s infatuation with the Professor, he shouldn’t be too surprised. But, to spend time amongst the Blue Lion house for a month… he anticipates it is to be a taxing affair at best.

He approaches it as he would any missive from his Lady. Diligently watching and listening from the shadows, gathering what information he can, while his outward behavior betrays no such ulterior motives. Perhaps it is wrong for him to think of his classmates as the enemy - Edelgard certainly has not given him any direction to do so. She does not think of them that way, simply sees them as those who have not been given the opportunity to join her cause. She believes that some of them can be swayed. While Hubert is more of a pragmatist (which is truly saying something, as Edelgard hasn’t given to grand daydreams and idealism since they were children) he very much doubts the possibility, yet finds himself almost wishing she is right.

At any rate, being surrounded by unfamiliar faces and annoying new habits is more than enough of a challenge. He’s used to giving off an intimidating air - part of it is learned, drilled into his head by his father. Von Vestras have no need for friends, nothing and  _ no one  _ exists to them beyond house Hresvelg. Getting close to others gives enemies weapons, leverage. Getting close to others is a distraction. Part of his demeanor, however, is his own awkwardness, his own inability to connect with others, never having developed the skills to do so.

While it keeps most others at the Academy at bay, he quickly learns the Blue Lions are… different. He is only with them for a month, hasn’t afforded any of them any particular kindness, and yet they treat him as though he  _ decided  _ to join their class. The most talkative ones are Annette and Mercedes, sitting with him during lectures - Annette practically bouncing in her seat, telling him excitedly about trivial things.

_ Us magic users have to stick together _ , she had beamed at him. She’s smart and quite talented, but her energy is poorly focused. If she doesn’t learn how to rest, she’ll burn out.

Mercedes is quieter. Softer. More motherly. She always has basketfuls of sweets he hasn’t the will to stomach. In a matter of short days she picks up on his preferred tastes, incorporating them into her baking- coffee flavored cakes and bitter chocolates. These he accepts. She seems too compassionate to exist in a world such as theirs.

Sylvain is exactly what Hubert assumed. Loud, boisterous, self-confident. It isn’t entirely unwarranted - skills come fairly easily to him considering how quick he is to neglect his own studies. With proper application, he could truly be formidable.

Dimitri is more reserved than the others. He’s kind, offering noble platitudes of “should you need anything I’m here,” but he’s a bit harder to read. Perhaps Hubert’s own ability to judge is clouded by the stories Lady Edelgard imparted. It is no matter.

Only Felix, Ashe, Ingrid, and Dedue make him feel at home, not particularly unkind, simply choosing to keep their distance. He appreciates this in a way.

On missions, he finds the rules are different. No matter how much time they choose to spend with or away from him in lectures and on monastery grounds, when it comes to combat, they trust wholly and completely. They let him fall seamlessly into their ranks, modifying whatever plans they have to include him. It is a curious thing. Of course he knows they work efficiently together. The Blue Lions won the first mock battle of the year - a victory Edelgard and himself aren’t keen on letting them repeat, so he studies how they move in battle as well. To sum their skills up in a word is easy, though it doesn’t quite encapsulate the complexities of how they work: Felix is overconfident, Ashe is quick, Ingrid is calculating, Annette is cautious, Mercedes is selfless, Sylvain is observant, Dimitri is authoritative, Dedue is immovable, and at the head of it all is the Professor, adaptable, quick on her feet. And so they do well, even when Rhea sends them on missions that shouldn’t be given to students. Battles that are difficult and require seasoned warriors with only the finest skill, conflicts that center around cleaning up the Church’s mess. Rhea must truly trust the Professor to give her such a mission.

“A fraction of the bishops and mages have cut Dedue and his battalion off from the rest of the group,” the Professor informs him. Their weekend campaign to put down dissidents from the Western Church is taking longer than any of them anticipated. What should have been solved in an afternoon is bleeding into the evening, the Western Church having more reinforcements than anticipated. “Sylvain and I will cut off their advances, pushing them back to our main force, but I need a magic user to help Dedue regroup.”

“Understood,” he nods.

The Professor turns to give further instruction to Sylvain, and Hubert takes his leave. It’s faster if he travels alone on horseback, less likely he’ll be discovered by the enemy. He is best at operating in the shadows, best left to his own devices when it comes to disposing of the enemy faction cutting off Dedue’s advance, and the Professor knows this. It’s why she has entrusted the task to him. He feels a small swell of pride knowing his talents haven’t gone unappreciated or unnoticed.

Just as quickly as the sounds of battle fade, a new din of noise takes its place. Hubert dismounts, signaling for his horse, Ystrid, to stay still, before pressing on into the woods. The air is changed and he can tell he’s close to whatever conflict is brewing - spellcasting leaves a sort of… electricity in its wake, making everything feel more static and warm. He’s not sure if non-magic users can pick up on this subtle shift, but it's why he always finds large battalions of spellcasters are useless when it comes to launching stealth attacks. Perhaps it is why the Western Church’s mages have focused their attacks on a non-magic user.

When he finds Dedue, he’s glad he arrived when he did. His battalion is scattered, doing their best to drive mages from their cover in the thicker patches of trees, already pushing their assault back toward the direction of the Professor and the main force. Despite being cut off, it seems Dedue is quite a capable commander. 

Dedue is leaning against the trunk of a rather large tree, somehow, quite miraculously, still managing to stand, handaxe at the ready, eyes darting to detect even the slightest movement from within the trees. His hard expression softens ever so slightly as he sees Hubert near him.

Wordlessly, he jerks his head to the left, his eyes guiding Hubert’s to a patch of trees behind his shoulder. Almost immediately, Hubert detects movement - the white robes of Western Church mages blend poorly with the trees ( _ idiots,  _ he thinks to himself), even with dusk beginning to settle around them. In a fluid movement, he draws a practiced sigil in the air- not bothering to flip through the pages of his tome- and watches as a dark flame falls on the trees, quickly spreading. He ignores the screams from the mages, watching them scatter and draw the attention of Dedue’s battalion, and turns his attention back to Dedue.

“Seems you’ve gotten in a bit over your head,” he smiles cooly.

“It would seem so,” Dedue grunts. He nods, which Hubert takes as thanks. Dedue is quiet, the quietest of any of his classmates. Not for lack of interesting things to say, Hubert has noted, he is simply a man of few words. Prefers to be direct and cut to the chase. All things Hubert can appreciate.

“I’m to bring you back, if you can manage it,” he says simply. Dedue coughs in reply. “I am to take it you’re wounded?” he takes a step closer to Dedue who stiffens slightly - a subconscious reaction, as Dedue quickly takes steps to soften his posture.

“Got hit,” he gestures toward his right leg, “How’s the Professor?”

“Managing,” Hubert shrugs. “She and the others are still working to repel the main force. We were sorely misinformed, it seems. Reinforcements haven’t stopped showing up all afternoon, but when I left, it seemed like the Western Church was finally at the end of their rope.”

Dedue nods, relaxing his posture and sliding to a seated position, letting out a shaky breath.

“If the others are faring well, I’d prefer to just rest a moment if it’s all the same to you,” he says, looking up at Hubert. “I’ve already given my men orders to regroup. I think we’ve cleared most of the mages out of the cover of the trees.”

“It will be dusk soon,” Hubert observes, his eyes flicking to the horizon - the blue sky already splashed with bright pinks and oranges.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Dedue says bluntly, taking Hubert somewhat by surprise. 

“I hadn’t made the observation out of fear for myself,” Hubert stammers, sitting on the ground in front of Dedue. What a curious man - even here, with someone he hardly knows, with mysterious wounds Hubert hasn’t had the time to observe as of yet, Dedue’s first thoughts are of Hubert, not of himself. He claims to be dangerous, claims that others should keep their distance from him, but it seems compassion is his weakness.

“Even so,” Dedue gives a small laugh, gently closing his eyes and leaning his head against the tree trunk. Hubert studies him for a moment. His breathing seems more shallow than usual - it’s likely the wounds he’s received aren’t confined to his leg as he’d mentioned earlier. Despite the cool evening air blowing in, there’s a light sheen of sweat dewing on Dedue’s skin. His brow is furrowed, as usual, though not as deep. He looks peaceful. Quite handsome, Hubert notes for what feels like the millionth time, though the observation doesn’t matter. Though they’ve only interacted a handful of times, there’s something about Dedue that draws him in - it could be any number of things: his height, his even gaze, strong jaw, quiet discipline. It isn’t exactly information he can bring back to Lady Edelgard. But they’re observations he allows himself to have nonetheless.

“Should I get a fire going?” Hubert asks, cutting into the silence before he can indulge his own thoughts for too long. 

Dedue shakes his head.

“I need only a moment more,” he says, opening his eyes. “Though, I must request further assistance from you.”

“Oh?”

“I can probably manage to walk but,” he attempts to sit a little taller, wincing slightly, “I believe some of the mages were using poison-tipped weapons. I was only grazed, but I believe it was a particularly potent concoction. I’ll need basic treatment before Mercedes looks at it.”

“Healing magic really isn’t my forte, I’m afraid,” Hubert’s lips curl.

“I’m aware,” Dedue hums. “I have some herbs in my pouch.” He jerks his head, guiding Hubert’s gaze to a small leather bag on the ground a few feet away.

Obediently, Hubert stands, retrieving it from the ground. It’s deceptively heavy, but the leatherwork itself is impressive. He turns back to Dedue, somewhat taken by surprise. Dedue has managed to shuck off half of his shirt, exposing his chest and right arm to the cool air.

His wounds are now fully visible (and they do look quite serious), Hubert doing his best to keep his attention trained on the parts of Dedue’s body that actually  _ need  _ his gaze. The dark fabric of the Academy uniform has done well to mask the severity of his injuries - his arm is already bruising and there are some painful looking lacerations, Hubert recognizes them from wind type spells. What truly concerns him are the burns and cuts along Dedue’s side. A particularly deep-looking gash runs along his ribcage, cutting into his stomach. The skin around the wound is blackening.

“Albinean dewdrop,” Hubert hums, kneeling by Dedue’s side. His fingers hover over the cut as he inspects it. He’s seen diagrams of these wounds before. The skin blackens right before paralysis takes effect. Eventually, the poison will seep into his bloodstream, flying to his organs and liquefying them, killing him slowly and quite painfully. Dedue is right to take action. “The mages likely extracted the pollen and converted it into a liquid substance. Tell me, can you still feel all of your extremities?”

“For now,” Dedue nods. “I wasn’t aware you had an interest in horticulture,” he remarks casually, as though he hasn’t mere moments until the poison starts taking effect. There’s a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“An interest is an odd way of describing it,” Hubert opens the leather pouch Dedue instructed him to grab. “Though, I suppose it’s an accurate description. Those of us who aren’t skilled in physical combat have to rely on other tools. Poisons are effective in ways magic is not.”

Hubert isn’t familiar with any of the dried plants Dedue keeps. He knows most plants, or so he thought, but the bright leaves and oddly shaped blooms hold no familiarity.

“They’re from Duscur,” Dedue explains. “You’re looking for a bluish leaf.”

Hubert digs through the pouch, ignoring his own curiosity for the time being. Few are familiar with the Duscur flora - they have the Tragedy of Duscur to thank for that - any records of plant life are incredibly difficult to find as those from Duscur seemed to prefer to keep to themselves. Should Hubert be allowed to observe some of Dedue’s plants, it could lead to useful discoveries.

He produces the plant Dedue directed him to find, holding it up for confirmation, which Dedue gives.

“What next?” he asks.

“Crumble the leaf and press it into the wound until it dissolves,” he scoots forward, giving Hubert easier access to his skin.

As instructed, he easily crushes the fragile leaf in his palm and moves to press against Dedue’s wound, before hesitating. His gloves are covered with grime and blood - adding an infection to the list of things Dedue will have to suffer on their trip back hardly seems kind. He sighs, using his teeth to pull off his right glove. Carefully, he transfers the leaf to his bare palm before removing his left glove in a similar fashion. With slow movements, he presses his palm firmly to the gash in Dedue’s side, feeling him wince at his touch, but he doesn’t pull away. Dedue simply grits his teeth, letting Hubert press into his wound.

Dedue’s skin is warm, another foolish observation - of course it is, his body is attempting to fight a poison and he’s coming down from a battle-high. But there’s something Hubert feels beyond just sweaty, heated skin. Some sort of connection that makes his whole palm tingle. Ignoring the warmth that spreads across his skin, Hubert keeps his palm pressed against Dedue’s skin, counting the seconds. He makes it to ten before Dedue’s hands gently lift his, signaling he can let go.

“The weeping fern will absorb most of the toxin for now,” he explains, slowly rising to his feet. “It’s a temporary blocker of course. We should rejoin the others.”

Hubert nods, picking up his gloves. His hands are still warm so he elects to leave them off, instead tucking them into a pocket. Dedue hasn’t bothered to pull his uniform back on, Hubert notes, deciding to avoid looking in his direction. Whatever a weeping fern is, it seems to be fast acting, the blackened edges of his wound fading back into the natural hues of Dedue’s warm skin tones. They walk in silence, slowly - Hubert turned somewhat exaggeratedly away from his companion, using the excuse that he needs to keep his eyes peeled for potential enemy movement. Though it sounds like the Western Church has retreated, caution is the best tactic, he reasons. 

After what feels like an eternity, the cover of trees lets up. Hubert lets out a quiet whistle, Ystrid quickly trotting into view. He motions for Dedue to mount - they’ll make better time if Dedue isn’t walking on his own two feet.

For a few moments, the gentle pattern of Ystrid’s trot is the only noise between them. 

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Dedue says softly, cutting into the silence, “what caused the scarring on your hands?”

His curiosity is natural. He’s not the first person to ask - it’s part of the reason Hubert elects to keep his hands covered. He’s not a vain man, he simply prefers to avoid unwanted attention. The remarks he gets on the state of his hands are  _ never  _ wanted. Though, Dedue’s tone is kind. There’s no judgement or cruelty behind his remarks, which is perhaps why an answer tumbles easily from Hubert’s mouth.

“Overuse and harsh punishment,” he says simply. “The only thing I was good for, even from a young age, was dark magic.”

“Do they hurt?”

“I can’t feel much,” Hubert shakes his head.

Dedue hums, his next words coming out slowly, “I may have something for that, if you’d wish it.”

Hubert’s steps falter, only for a moment. What reason had Dedue to offer him such kindness? What did it matter to him what state Hubert’s hands were in? Again, he notes the ease with which compassion pours from this… stranger. He knows he will mention this to Lady Edelgard - compassion is an easily exploitable weakness - and yet, he is grateful for it. He is unused to kindness, but he finds that, coming from the right person, with the right intentions, it is quite nice.

“Perhaps,” he agrees slowly, fighting a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally just gonna be like a quick twoshot fic but um. oops.


End file.
